


Flirting Sherlock, Jealous John

by WilliamAnyaScottHolmes



Series: Twist on a Trope Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, It's For a Case, Johnlock Roulette, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4864802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilliamAnyaScottHolmes/pseuds/WilliamAnyaScottHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an installment in my ficlet prompt series from tumblr, the Twist on a Trope series.</p><p>This ficlet was prompted by ishaveforsherl: "Sherlock flirting for a case and John getting really jealous."</p><p>Honestly, I didn't really twist this much - it's a classic and I was afraid to mess with it. It's so pure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flirting Sherlock, Jealous John

“Alright, you take a table and keep watch. I don’t anticipate any trouble and you look like you could use a meal and a pint or two,” Sherlock said with an amused smile. John grumbled in annoyance but didn’t disagree. The two of them had been running about London on this murder case for the past 11 hours without ceasing and John was starting to fade.

“And where are you going to be?” John said, irritated that Sherlock was planning to continue ignoring basic biological needs.

“I have a suspect to question. If my deductions are correct, I will be much more effective on my own than with you. Go on ahead and get a seat near the back where you can see the whole pub without being observed,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly, fluffing his hair as he checked his reflection in the window of a parked car. John rolled his eyes for a full five seconds before he stomped to the door, relaxing slightly when warm air rushed out to greet him as he stepped inside.

“Table for one, please,” he said to the host, a kid barely a day over 16 with dark green hair. When they turned toward a table by the front window, John said, “Um, in the back, if you could.” The host looked horribly inconvenienced, but plopped John’s menu on a table in the back corner, which luckily had a decent view of the bar and front door.

“Thanks,” smiled John as he took his seat and picked up the menu. He was absolutely starving.

As he perused his options, the door swung open dramatically and in sauntered Sherlock, looking… unbelievably handsome. John stared and tried to determine what was different from just a few moments ago. Yes, Sherlock’s hair was even more tastefully messy than usual, but it was something else.  _His cheeks_ , thought John suddenly.  _His cheeks are so pink. Jesus, with that hair, he looks like he just had the shag of his life._

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his own face warming at the ridiculous comparison. He looked quickly back to his menu so he wouldn’t be caught staring by Sherlock or anyone else in the sparse afternoon crowd. Sherlock glanced around the room before walking slowly to the bar, pulling off his gloves finger by finger. When he reached a stool near the wall, he languidly dragged his scarf loose, revealing his long, flawless neck. Last to go was the Belstaff, which Sherlock unbuttoned and let fall effortlessly from his shoulders into his hands before dropping the gloves, scarf, and coat on the stool against the wall. Finally done with this bizarre, captivating striptease, Sherlock dragged his own stool out, lifting his arse to perch on its edge.

A throat clearing above him caught John’s attention. An old woman in a tee shirt and jeans raised her eyebrows. “Know what you want, hun?”

John stuttered and looked blindly at the menu, finally stammering, “Fish and chips, please, and a pint of lager. Thanks.” He smiled up at her, hoping he hadn’t been so obvious. She smiled back with eyebrows knit together in pity before grunting an affirmative and taking his menu.

John muttered to himself as he looked back at the bar. Sherlock was no longer alone. Within two minutes, he had a pint in his hand and a handsome salt-and-pepper type leaning with a forearm on the bar and a hand on Sherlock’s mid-thigh. John couldn’t believe how quickly this “interview” had progressed to mild groping. Sherlock certainly seemed to be relaxed and interested, but John could see hints of tension in his shoulders and a tightness in his smile. Something in his own chest tightened, forcing him to breathe deeply and pull his shoulders back.

He watched uneasily as his pint came to the table. He took it without looking away from the bar or thanking the waitress. Taking a sip, John watched as the man, who was either very intoxicated or a massive creep, moved his hand up Sherlock’s thigh and squeezed possessively. Sherlock grinned flirtatiously, but this smile was even more strained than the first few had been.

John’s left hand clenched as he tried to trust that Sherlock knew what he was doing and had a plan.

The man straighten up from his lean against the bar and removed his hand from Sherlock’s thigh. John sighed with relief, but the hand hadn’t finished its journey. As the man stepped closer to Sherlock, dropping his head to whisper in his ear, he laid that hand between Sherlock’s shoulder blades and slowly traced down his spine to rest it just above Sherlock’s belt. After a pause, a pinky and ring finger slipped slowly downward between Sherlock’s trousers and tucked shirt.

John shot up from his chair, marching faster than he thought possible to the bar. “Oi, the hell you think you’re doing touching my boyfriend? Get your hands off his arse, creep!” Captain Watson bellowed as he smacked the man’s shoulder, shoving him aside.

The man gaped at him. “Jesus, mate, he didn’t say anything about a boyfriend! Not my fuckin’ fault!” He grabbed for his jacket, fumbling to put it on. “Sod this, the beer was flat anyway,” he said as he slammed a few notes on the bar. He stumbled out the door in a huff, tripping on the threshold as he exited.

John stared after him for a moment as the adrenaline’s effect waned and his mind resumed normal processing speed.  _Shit,_ he thought to himself, closing his eyes and taking a breath. He turned to Sherlock, who was staring at him with a look of equal parts amusement, surprise, and… something John couldn’t define. Something soft.

“That was certainly an efficient way of wrapping up a conversation,” Sherlock said without breaking eye contact.

“Well,” John replied breathlessly, “He was a bit of a dick. I could see how uncomfortable you were from clear across the pub.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock’s eyes searched his face. Finally, he looked away toward the back wall. “Your waitress left your meal at the table. I have time, if you’d like to eat. That man clearly wasn’t clever enough to have murdered that couple. I’ll sit with you,” he said as he gathered his things from the next stool.

“Looks like that whole ordeal was a waste of time,” John chuckled as he scratched the back of his neck and stepped backwards, giving Sherlock room to lithely step from the stool.

Sherlock turned and his eyes studied John’s face again. “Not entirely.”


End file.
